


A Tangled Tale

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Memory Related, Stars, because I can't be bothered to come up with a new angel name for him, crowley was raphael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Hanging constellations is no easy task, alone.





	A Tangled Tale

Raphael is stretching as far as he can, his body contorted as he tries to keep his stars in place, but it’s no use. He calls out to a passing angel for help.

"You. Got a minute? I need someone to hold the end of this constellation while I sort the fiddly bits out. Can't do both, I tried it and it gets tangled if you do."

The Principality seems surprised to be addressed; he looks fresh and new, as if perhaps he hasn’t been given his first orders yet. Raphael doesn’t mind that; he won’t keep the young angel for long, and if he hasn’t been given orders then he’s not failing to carry them out if he just stops for a moment and gives Raphael a hand. Really, it won’t even take a whole hand. The young angel seems to come to the same conclusion and reaches out for the star at the end of the string.

“Er. Yes. I’m Aziraphale, by the way.”

“Raphael.”

“Oh, yes, I know, the archangel.” Aziraphale smiles brightly, eclipsing the star now pinched between his fingers. “It gets tangled, you say?”

“Yes, if someone doesn’t hold the end for me.” He casts a disdainful look at Alpha Centauri, where two stars are irrevocably caught on one another right in the centre of his intricate design.

"It's pretty," says Aziraphale, following his gaze, and he has to concede that even though those stars were never meant to go together, it's worked out rather beautifully.

“Yes, well, they can’t all be like that - so hold on tight to that one while I sort the placement of _ these _out.” And Raphael loses himself in the rhythm of pinning star after star into place. The humans may not even see many of these; some will burn out before they even think of turning their faces upwards. But most will be seen, and Raphael hopes the humans will see them as more than just pretty points of light. He hopes they give them names, and stories, as they will the birds and the beasts and the trees of earth. He hopes they will be inspired by them.

“Oh, Raphael, that’s _ lovely_,” Aziraphale tells him, clearly delighted, as the archangel reaches out for the final star, the one held tight between Aziraphale’s fingers. It takes the new Principality a moment to realise that he ought to let go. “Oh. Sorry.” But Raphael snatches his hand back, suddenly, before Aziraphale can relinquish the star.

“You do it,” he suggests, and then, “that is- if you’d like to?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know where to- But to place a _ star_, though. That would be thrilling. But I’d hate to mess up your beautiful work.”

Raphael isn’t sure what makes him do it; he reaches out and guides Aziraphale’s hand until it’s in just the right spot.

“There. Put it there,” he whispers, his breath tickling the Principality’s ear; he can see it in the way the new angel shivers. Then he lets go, and watches proudly as Aziraphale places the final star in a great new constellation.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, eyes fixed on the star, “_oh_.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, quite the… quite the rush.” The young angel is looking at _ him_, now, and he’s still beaming. “_Thank _you, Raphael.”

“Thank _ you _for your help.” He could grin at the Principality for eternity, proud of his unexpected pupil - but Aziraphale needs to go; he will have his own orders soon enough. And Raphael has more stars to scatter. “I’ll see you around, I hope.”

“Oh, I should think so.”

* * *

Raphael balances on one foot, a star held between his toes as he tries to get his pattern into order.

“Raphael.”

“Lucifer. Come to help? I could use someone to hold the other-”

“Not quite.” He makes no move to help, so Raphael twists and writhes until the bulk of the design is set into the sky. “I wondered how you’d like a change of pace. Some of us were making a few plans for later.”

“Can’t say I’m not intrigued. What did you have in mind?” He tosses a final star carelessly into position, and as Lucifer begins to speak, neither of them notice as it slips from its place and falls.

Not long after that, they follow its example.

* * *

Crowley doesn't see the point of celebrating Christmas - "it wasn't even December, it was bloody _ April _ " - and neither does Aziraphale, really, but he _ does _enjoy the tradition of festooning the bookshop with tinsel, and this year Crowley has been roped in too.

"Consider it another way to celebrate the world's continued existence," Aziraphale had told him, and Crowley hadn't felt able to argue.

Now he’s stretching awkwardly, his whole body contorted, trying to get a string of fairy lights to run along the edge of the shop window, and he is very close to giving up and using a miracle, passers-by be damned.

"Angel," he calls, "got a minute? I need someone to hold the other end-"

Aziraphale emerges from the back room as he’s speaking and freezes, eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. Crowley frowns; he’s holding a string of twinkling lights, stretching awkwardly to get them in the right place, and he just needs the angel to _ take hold of the other end_. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is staring at him as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Raphael,” he whispers, and Crowley sneezes so hard his ears ring. The fairy lights fall to the floor, and Crowley’s certain that when he tries to pick them up, they will be tangled. It’s one of those things that just happens. Even just glancing down, he can see that a bulb has gone out, too.

“What’s that, angel?”

“You… you always said you didn’t remember your name. In Heaven.”

“Names, faces… I don’t remember the Host, you know that.”

“And you know _ we _ were all made to forget so much- but you don’t forget some things. You don’t forget placing a _ star_.”

“No, I remember placing the stars, I just don’t-”

“No. No, Crowley - _ I _ placed a star. Oh, _ do _tell me you remember-”

“I- I mean, I got somebody to help me once, I think, after Alpha Centauri got all stuck together…” Crowley falters, a tiny spark of memory lighting up his brain. “An angel who thought it was beautiful, even after I ruined it.”

“Two stars that were never meant to be a pair,” Aziraphale tells him wryly, “but they were so beautiful together, all the same.”

“It was you,” Crowley realises, and then… “you know my name?”

“Raphael,” Aziraphale tells him, and Crowley sneezes again, his brain feeling as if it’s been rattled against the sides of his skull.

“Maybe we’d better stick to Crowley,” he concedes, “but Aziraphale - I _ met _ you. You _ saw _me- before.” Suddenly, he feels very sick. “It must be a disappointment, looking at me now.”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale assures him, “I’m afraid my star is very much bound up with yours.”

Then he reaches down, using a swift, gentle miracle to restore the broken bulb, and takes one end of the string of lights in hand.

“Show me what you can do,” he says, and Crowley can’t deny him.

A. Z. Fell’s shop wins two separate awards for its decorations that year, and it’s all due to the mass of delicately placed fairy lights in the window. Whenever a customer asks about it, Aziraphale beams proudly.

“A very dear friend hung them for me,” he tells them, “except for that one. _ I _did that one.”


End file.
